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Across the Plains by Prairie Schooner 

Personal Narrative of B. F. Bonney of His Trip 

to Sutter's Fort, California, in 1846, and of His 

Pioneer Experiences In Oregon During the Days 

of Oregon's Provisional Government 



By 
Fred Lockley 



Koke-Tiflfany Co. 
Eugene, Ore. 



Recollections of Benjamin 
Franklin ' Bonney 

By Fred Lockley 

Recently while in Mulino I spent an afternoon with 
B. F. Bonney. "I was christened Benjamin Franklin," 
said Mr. Bonney. "My father, Jarvis Bonney, was born 
in New York City on Oct. 14, 1793. His people were 
from Scotland. My mother, whose maiden name was 
Jane Elkins, was also born in New York City on March 
11, 1809. 

"My mother was my father's second wife. He had 
five children by his first wife and nine children by his 
second wife. I am the second child of the second brood. 
I was born in Fulton Co., 111., on Nov. 28, 1838. 

"My father was a millwright, carpenter, cabinet 
maker and cooper. When I was a boy flour sacks were 
not used, flour being shipped in barrels. My father ran 
a cooper shop and manufactured flour barrels near what 
is now called Smithfield, 111. 

"There was so much fever and ague in Illinois, father 
decided to move. He had heard of Oregon. The thing 
that decided him to come to Oregon was he had heard 
there were plenty of fish here. Father was a great fish- 
erman, and while he caught pike and red horse there, he 
wanted to move to a country where he could catch trout 
and salmon. 

"My father put in his spare time for some months 
making a strong sturdy wagon in which to cross the 
plains. My father's brother, Truman Bonney, after talk- 
ing the matter over with my father, decided that he also 
would come to Oregon. He had a large family. 

My father and mother, with their children, Edward, 
Harriet, Truman, Martha Jane, Emily, Ann and myself, 
started for the Willamette Valley on April 2, 1845. There 



were over 3000 people who started for Oregon in the 
spring of 1845. 

"Presley Welch was captain of one of the trains, 
Joel Palmer and Samuel K. Barlow being his lieutenants. 
Samuel Hancock was captain of another train. Both of 
these trains left from Independence, Mo. Another com- 
pany with over 50 wagons left from St. Joe. The cap- 
tain of this wagon train being A. Hackelman. Still an- 
other wagon train left St. Joe, Mo., under command of 
W. G. T'Vault, John Waymire being his assistant. Sol 
Tetherow was in command of still another wagon train. 

"I was seven years old when we started for Oregon. 
I can well remember what a hullabaloo the neighbors set 
up when father said we were going to Oregon. They 
told him his family would all be killed by the Indians, or 
if we escaped the Indians we would either starve to 
death or drown or be lost in the desert, but father was 
not much of a hand to draw back after he had put his 
hand to the plow, so he went ahead and made ready for 
the trip. He built a large box in the home-made wagon 
and put in a lot of dried buffalo meat and pickled pork. 
He had made over a hundred pounds of maple sugar the 
preceding fall which we took along instead of loaf sugar. 
He also took along plenty of corn meal. At Indepen- 
dence, Mo., he laid in a big supply of buffalo meat and 
bought more coffee. He also laid in a plentiful supply 
of home twist tobacco. Father chewed it and mother 
smoked it. To this day I enjoy seeing some white-haired 
old lady smoking her Missouri meerschaum, as we used 
to call the old corn cob pipes in those days. It reminds 
me of my mother. 

"When we passed through Independence it was merely 
a trading post. The Indians were camped all around 
and were anxious to trade buffalo robes for shirts, pow- 
der, lead and fire water, preferably the latter. Father 
bought four finely tanned buffalo robes of the Indians. 

"There were several stores in Independence, a num- 



/6' X'h (7 




ber of blacksmith shops and wagon shops as well as livery 
stables and hotels. 

"At Independence we joined the Barlow wagon train. 
Barlow soon took command of the train. In those days 
you could size a man up, but you can't do it any more, 
there isn't the opportunity. Barlow had good judgment, 
was resourceful, accommodating and firm. 

"One man in the company by the name of Gaines had 
a fine outfit. He had six wagons and was well to do. 
He settled in Polk County. 

"One of the things I remember very vividly was a 
severe thunder storm that took place in the middle of 
the night. The thunder seemed almost incessant, and 
the lightning was so brilliant you could read by its flashes. 
The men chained the oxen so they would not stampede, 
though they were very restive. Our tents were blown 
down as were the covers off our prairie schooners and 
in less than five minutes we were wet as drowned rats. 
Unless you have been through it you have no idea of the 
confusion resulting from a storm on the plains, with 
the oxen bellowing, the children crying and the men 
shouting, the thunder rolling like a constant salvo of 
artillery ; with everything as light as day from the lightn- 
ing flashes and the next second as black as the depth of 
the pit. 

"At Fort Hall we were met by an old man named 
Caleb Greenwood and his three sons; John was 22, Bri- 
tain 18, and Sam 16. Caleb Greenwood, who originally 
hailed from Novia Scotia, was an old mountain man and 
was said to be over 80 years old. He had been a scout 
and trapper and had married a squaw, his sons being 
half breeds. He was employed by Captain Sutter to 
come to Fort Hall to divert the Oregon-bound emigrants 
to California. Greenwood was a very picturesque old 
man. He was dressed in buckskin and had a long heavy 
beard and used very picturesque language. He called 
the Oregon emigrants together the first evening we were 



in Fort Hall and made a talk. He said the road to Ore- 
gon was dangerous on account of the Indians. He told 
us that while no emigrants had as yet gone to California, 
there was an easy grade and crossing the mountains 
would not be difficult. He said that Capt. Sutter would 
have ten Californians meet the emigrants who would go 
and that Sutter would supply them with plenty of pota- 
toes, coffee and dried beef. He also said he would help 
the emigrants over the mountains with their wagons and 
that to every head of a family who would settle near 
Sutter's Fort, Captain Sutter would give six sections of 
land of his Spanish land grant. After Greenwood had 
spoken the men of our party held a pow-wow which 
lasted nearly all night. Some wanted to go to California, 
while others were against it. Barlow, who was in charge 
of our train, said that he would forbid any man leaving 
the train and going to California. He told us we did not 
know what we were going into, that there was a great 
uncertainty about the land titles in California, that we 
were Americans and should not want to go to a country 
under another flag. Some argued that California would 
become American territory in time; others thought that 
Mexico would fight to hold it and that the Americans 
who went there would get into a mixup and probably 
get killed. 

"The meeting nearly broke up in a mutiny. Barlow 
finally appealed to the men to go to Oregon and make 
Oregon an American territory and not waste their time 
going to California to help promote Sutter's land schemes. 

"Next morning old Caleb Greenwood with his boys 
stepped out to one side and said : 'All you who want to 
go to California drive out from the main train and fol- 
low me. You will find there are no Indians to kill you, 
the roads are better, and you will be allowed to take up 
more land in California than in Oregon, the climate is 
better, there is plenty of hunting and fishing, and the 
rivers are full of salmon.' 



"My father, Jarvis Bonney, was the first one of the 
Oregon party to pull out of the Oregon train and head 
south with Caleb Greenwood. My uncle, Truman Bon- 
ney, followed my father, then came Sam Kinney of Texas, 
then came Dodson and then a widow woman named 
Teters, and some others. There were eight wagons in 
all that rolled out from the main train to go to California 
with Caleb Greenwood. 

"The last thing those remaining in the Barlow train 
said to us was, 'Good-bye, we will never see you again. 
Your bones will whiten in the desert or be gnawed by 
wild animals in the mountains.' 

"After driving southward for three days with Caleb 
Greenwood, he left us to go back to Fort Hall to get other 
emigrants to change their route to California. He left 
his three boys with us to guide us to Sutter's Fort. Sam, 
the youngest of the three boys, was the best pilot, though 
all three of them knew the country as well as a city man 
knows his own back yard. 

"We headed southwest. I never saw better pasture 
than w^e had after leaving the main traveled road. Our 
oxen waxed fat and became unruly and obstreperous. 
After two weeks traveling we struck a desert of sand and 
sage brush. 

"Breaking the way through the heavy sage brush was 
so hard on the lead team of oxen that their legs were 
soon bruised and bleeding, so each wagon had to take its 
turn at the head of the train for half a day, then drop 
to the rear. On this sage brush plain we found lots of 
prickly pears. We children were barefooted and I can 
remember yet how we limped across that desert, for we 
cut the soles of our feet on the prickly pears. The 
prickly pears also made the oxen lame, for the spines 
would work in between the oxen's hoofs. 

"One day Sam came riding back as fast as he could 
ride and told us to corral the oxen for a big band of 
buffalo were on the way and would pass near us. When- 



ever oxen smell fresh buffalo they go crazy. They want 
to join the buffalo. We got the wagons in a circle and 
got the oxen inside. The buffalo charged by, not far off. 
The Greenwood boys killed a two-year-old and a heifer 
calf. We had to camp there for a few hours, for our 
guides told us that if our oxen crossed the trail of the 
buffalo they would become unmanageable. It is an odd 
thing that when oxen smell the fresh trail of the buffalo 
they stop and paw and bellow as if they smelled fresh 
blood. If you have ever tried to stop a runaway ox 
team you know what hard work it is. I remember see- 
ing on the plains a stampede of oxen which were hitched 
to the wagons. They tried to stop them but they had 
to let them run till they were tired out. Two of the oxen 
were killed by being dragged by the others. The men 
cut the throats of the two oxen, bled them and we ate 
them, though the meat was tough and stringy. 

"While we were crossing the sage brush desert, one 
of the men in our party named Jim Kinney, who hailed 
from Texas, came upon an Indian. Kinney had a big 
wagon and four yoke of oxen for his provisions and 
bedding. He also had a spring hack pulled by a span of 
fine mules. His wife drove the mules while Kinney him- 
self always rode a mule. He had a man to drive his 
wagon with the four yoke of Oxen. Kinney was a typi- 
cal southerner. He had long black hair, long black mus- 
tache, heavy black eyebrows, and was tall and heavy, 
weighing about 225 pounds. He had a violent temper 
and was a good deal of a desperado. 

"When he saw this Indian in the sage brush he called 
to his driver to stop. Kinney's wagon was in the lead, 
so the whole train was stopped. Going to the wagon he 
got a pair of handcuffs and started back to where the 
Indian was. The Indian had no idea Kinney meant any 
harm to him. My father said, 'Kinney, what are you 
going to do with that Indian?' Kinney said, 'Where I 
came from we have slaves. I am going to capture that 



Indian and take him with me as a slave.' My father 
said to him, 'The first thing you know, that Indian will 
escape and tell the other Indians and they will kill all 
of us.' Kinney said, 'I generally have my way. Any 
man that crosses me, regrets it. I have had to kill two 
or three men already because they interfered with me. 
If you want any trouble you know how to get it.' Kinney 
was an individualist. He would not obey the train rules 
but he was such a powerful man and apparently held 
life so lightly that no one wanted to cross him. 

"Kinney went to where the Indian was, jumped olf 
his mule, and struck the Indian over the head. The Indian 
tried to escape. He put up a fight but was no match for 
Kinney. In a moment or two Kinney had knocked him 
down and gotten his hand cuffs on him and dragged him 
to the hack, fastened a rope around his neck, and fas- 
tened him to the hack. Kinney told his wife to hand 
him his black-snake whip, which she did, as she was as 
much afraid of him as the men were. Then he told his 
wife to drive on. He slashed the Indian across the naked 
shoulders with the black-snake whip as a hint not to pull 
back. The Indian threw himself on the ground and was 
pulled along by his neck. Kinney kept slashing him to 
make him get up, till finally the Indian got up and trotted 
along behind the hack. 

"For several days Kinney rode back of the Indian, 
slashing him across the back with the black-snake to do 
what he called 'break his spirit.' After a week or ten 
days Kinney untied the Indian and turned him over to 
his ox driver, telling him to break the Indian in to drive 
the ox team. 

"Kinney had a hound dog that was wonderfully smart. 
He had used him in Texas to trail runaway slaves. After 
two or three weeks Kinney did not tie the Indian any 
more at night, as he said if the Indian ran away the dog 
would pick up his trail and he could follow him and kill 
him to show the other Indians the superiority of the 



white man. He said he had killed plenty of negroes and 
an Indian was no better than a negro. 

"After the Indian had been with Kinney for over 
three weeks, one dark windy night he disappeared. Kin- 
ney called the Indian his man Friday. In the morning 
when Kinney got up he found the Indian had taken a 
blanket as well as Kinney's favorite Kentucky rifle — a 
gun he had paid $100 for. He had also taken his powder 
horn, some lead, and three hams. Kinney was furious. 
I never saw a man in such a temper in all my life. Every 
one in the train rejoiced that the Indian had escaped 
but they all appeared to sympathize with Kinney for 
they were afraid of being killed if they showed any signs 
of satisfaction. Kinney saddled his mule, took his dog 
along, and started out to track the Indian. The wind 
had blown sand in ridges and hummocks, covering the 
Indian's trail. So after hunting for half a day in all 
directions and being unable to track him, Kinney re- 
turned to the wagon train and we started on. 

"In our party were four or five young men who used 
to ride ahead with the Greenwood boys, sometimes in 
front and sometimes by the side of the wagons as a body 
guard. One day when John Greenwood was acting as 
pilot, an Indian suddenly raised from the sage brush, 
frightening John's horse. John had a fine riding horse, 
one of the best I have ever seen. As his horse reared he 
jerked it savagely. It nearly unseated him. Several of 
the young men laughed. This made John Greenwood 
furious. He declared he would kill the Indian for scar- 
ing his horse. John took his gun from in front of his 
saddle and pointed it at the Indian. The Indian threw 
up his hands. The young men with John remonstrated 
with him and told him that the Indian meant no harm 
and not to shoot. One of the young men called to the 
Indian to run. The Indian obeyed and started to run 
away at full speed. This was too much for John, who 
drew a quick bead and fired, shooting him through the- 



back. The Indian fell forward face downward in the 
sand. 

"The men on horseback waited there till the others 
rode up, but John rode on as fast as he could go. My 
uncle, Truman Bonney, who was a doctor, examined the 
Indian, who was gasping for breath, and said he had been 
shot through the lungs and that it was a fatal wound. 

"My mother took a quilt from our wagon and laid the 
dying Indian on it ; she also brought him a drink of water 
but he shook his head and refused to drink. We drove 
on a mJle or so and just about dusk, Caleb Greenwood and 
his son Sam, who were escorting some other emigrants, 
rode into our camp. They had come across the Indian, 
who was still living. Caleb Greenwood told his son Sam 
to shoot the Indian through the head to put him out of 
his misery, which he did, and they dug a hole in the sand 
and buried him. When Caleb Greenwood came into our 
camp he said, 'The man who killed that Indian must die.' 
He thought Kinney had killed him. My father said, 
'Your son John shot him,' Greenwood told the men of 
the party to meet and state the full facts. When he 
found that his son John had not shot in self defense but 
had shot the Indian wantonly, he said: 'I will act as 
judge of this trial. I order that the murderer of the 
Indian be killed.' He told the men of the party that 
whoever saw John to shoot him on sight as they would 
a wild animal. 

"John, who was mounted on a fine horse, rode on as 
fast as he could and fell in with a Mexican and in a quar- 
rel with this Mexican over a game of cards, was stabbed 
and killed, so our party did not have an opportunity to 
carry out the orders of execution. 

"At the foot of the Sierra Nevada mountains we were 
met by ten Mexicans with a pack train consisting of 
flour, potatoes, dried beef and other provisions. 

"We camped at the foot of the mountains for several 
days, waiting for other emigrants, who had turned off at 

9 



Fort Hall, to join us. After a day's traveling we came 
to a rim rock ledge where there was no chance to drive 
up, so the wagons were taken to pieces and hoisted to 
the top of the rim rock with ropes. The wagons were 
put together again, reloaded, and the oxen which had 
been led through a narrow crevice in the rim rock, were 
hitched up and we went on. Once again in the Sierras 
we came to a rim rock that could not be mounted, and 
repeated the process of hoisting the wagons up. It took 
us four days to reach the summit of the mountains. In 
going down the side of the mountains in the Sacramento 
valley the mountains were so steep in places that we had 
to cut pine trees and hitch them to the ends of the wagons 
to keep them from running forward on the legs of the 
oxen. 

"At the foot of the Sierras we camped by a beautiful, 
ice-cold, crystal-clear mountain stream. We camped 
there for three days to rest the teams and let the women 
wash the clothing and get things fixed up. 

"My sister Harriett was 14, and with my cousin, 
Lydia Bonney, daughter of my father's brother, Truman 
Bonney, myself and other boys of the party, we put in 
three delightful days wading in the stream. It was Oc- 
tober and the water was low. In many places there 
were sand and gravel bars. 

"On one of these gravel bars I saw what I thought 
was wheat, but when I picked them up I found they were 
heavy and the color of dull yellow wheat. I took one of 
the pieces about the size of a small pea into camp with 
me. Dr. R. Gildea asked me for it. That evening he 
came to my father and, showing him the dull yellow metal 
I had given him, said : 'What your boy found today is 
pure gold. Keep the matter to yourself; v/e will come 
back here next spring and get rich.' My father thought 
Dr. Gildea was a visionary and did not pay much atten- 
tion to him. 

"Dr. Gildea asked me to pick up all the nuggets I 

10 



could find. He gave me an ounce bottle and asked me 
to fill it for him. The next day we hunted along the 
edge of the rocks and crevices and soon filled his ounce 
bottle with little nuggets ranging in size from a grain of 
wheat to the size of a pea. 
^' "When we arrived at the fort, Captain Sutter made 

us heartily welcome. He told my father the fort would 
accommodate twelve families and the first twelve fami- 
lies joining his colony would be furnished quarters there. 
He furnished us quarters in the fort and also gave us 
plenty of fresh beef, potatoes, onions, coffee and sugar. 
The families who joined the colony received the regular 
rations in accordance Vv^ith the number of children in the 
family. He gave work to all the men who cared to work. 
Some of the men helped break the wild Spanish cattle 
to plow. 

"The native method of farming was by means of crude 
plows drawn by two yoke of oxen. Instead of yokes, the 
cattle had poles lashed. to their horns. They used raw- 
hides for chains and their method of plowing was to have 
one man lead the oxen and one man on each side with a 
long sharp stick to goad the oxen. Captain Sutter en- 
gaged my father to make ox yokes to replace the native 
rigging. Our men had a busy and strenuous job, break- 
ing the native cattle to plow. They would put one of our 
well-broken teams in front, then put a yoke of wild 
steers in the middle and a well-broken American yoke of 
oxen in the rear. In this way our men broke twenty 
yoke of oxen during the winter. 

"There was a large cookhouse at the fort, where we 
children liked to watch them doing the cooking. They 
cooked here for a large number of Indian laborers. In 
addition to the Indian workers, there were a lot of Indian 
boys who were being trained to work. Sutter had to keep 
getting new workers, as many of the Indians would die 
each winter of mountain fever. 

"These Indian boys were fed in a peculiar way. They 

11 



ground barley for them, made it into a gruel, and emptied 
it into a long trough. When the big dinner bell rang the 
Indian boys would go to the trough and with their lingers 
would scrape up the porridge and eat it. 

"In the middle of the fort was a big oven where the 
bread was baked. Near by was a well from which we 
all drank water. At the east end of the fort there was 
a pile of oak lumber. Here the Indians and other ser- 
•vants were punished for any infraction of the rules. The 
man or boy to be punished would be strapped face down- 
ward to one of the oak logs and would then be flogged on 
the back with a five-tailed raw^-hide. Out near the gate 
a large bell was hung. One of the servants rang this 
every hour so people would know what time it was. 

"So many emigrants were crowded into the fort that 
winter that as a result there was a good deal of sickness. 
In those days it was called mountain fever; now it is 
called typhoid fever. A large number of the natives 
died of this, as well as some of the emigrants, mainly 
children. Among those who died was Dr. Gildea. He 
was the one who was going back the next spring with my 
father to get rich picking up the gold nuggets at our old 
camping place. He died January 22, 1846, and as you 
know, two years later gold was discovered in the mill 
race at Sutter's Fort. My uncle, Truman Bonney, who 
had gone north to Oregon, remembered where we chil- 
dren had found the gold, so he and some others returned 
to our old camping place to stake out claims, but it had 
already been staked out, and proved to be very rich 
ground. 

"The fall we arrived at Sutter's Fort there was a 
good deal of trouble about the coming of Americans to 
California. A Mexican officer named Castro brought up 
the question of the legality of foreigners coming to 
California without passports. The authorities at Mexi- 
can City had issued instructions that the Americans from 
the Sandwich Islands could come to California even 



12 



though their passports were not regular, but that the 
emigrants who came from Missouri or who came south 
from Oregon must have proper passports. The order, 
which was published in California on September 12, 1845, 
said that the coming of American families from Missouri 
into California was apt to cause subversion of order and 
complicate foreign relations with California as well as 
create much embarrassment, and as a consequence posi- 
tive orders were issued that no more families should be 
permitted to come into California unless they became 
naturalized. Castro and Castillero came north to ask 
the American emigrants as to their intentions in settling 
in California. Castro explained to them that friendly 
relations had been broken off between the republic of the 
United States and the republic of Mexico. The emi- 
grants promised that if they were allowed to remain till 
spring they would go away peacefully. Vallejo v/as put 
in charge of the Americans to see that they kept good 
order. Vallejo was very good to the American settlers, 
supplied them with provisions, and did not require them 
to give bonds to keep the peace. 

"Sutter, himself, was more than kind to the emigrants. 
He was anxious to build up an American colony there 
and he did everything possible for the Americans. 

"In the spring of 1846 a Mexican general with thirty 
soldiers came to the fort and said all Americans who did 
not care to become Spanish subjects must leave Califor- 
nia. Late in April a meeting of the emigrants was called 
and the question was discussed. Most of the emigrants 
decided that they preferred going to Oregon rather than 
losing their American citizenship. Captain Sutter urged 
my father to stay, and told him he would give him six 
sections of land, but he refused. Captain Sutter gaye 
him horses and wagons in exchange for his oxen. 

"Captain Sutter wanted to have as many Americans 
settle there as he could get, and planned to furnish them 
land so they would raise wheat. He wanted to buy all 



13 



the wheat from them, as he planned to sell it to the Rus- 
sian government at Sitka, Fort Wrangell, and other 
points in Alaska. He was a man of vision. The Russian 
government had given up their settlements in Califor- 
nia ; the Hudson's Bay Company were retiring from Ore- 
gon to British Columbia, and he believed he could 
exchange wheat for furs with the Russians in Alaska 
and make a fortune. He probably would have done so 
if gold had not been discovered in California. 

"Those Americans who were unwilling to renounce 
their native country were required to move in the spring. 
We had always traveled by wagons and it was a problem 
how to move our families and our possessions on horse- 
back. In the party to Oregon there were fifteen small 
children. Father and mother were unusually anxious to 
go to Oregon because my oldest brother and my sister 
Ann had died and were buried at Sutter's Fort. So 
they regarded California as unhealthy. Among the 
Americans were some single men who were unwilling to 
take the oath of allegiance to Mexico and wanted to stay 
in California, so they took to the hills and decided to 
stay anyway. 

"Among the young children to be taken to Oregon 
was my sister, Ellen Francisco, who had been born at 
Sutter's Fort and who was only a few months old. There 
were no roads to Oregon, so the children had to go on 
horseback. An old Scotchman solved the problem by 
making pack saddles with arms fifteen inches high. He 
wove raw-hide strands around this framework, making 
a regular basket. Two children could be placed in each 
one of these pack saddles without any danger of their 
falling out. I will never forget the exciting forenoon 
we spent when we started from the fort. Many of the 
horses were not saddle broken and when the children 
were put in these high pack saddles the horses would run 
and buck. At first many of the children set up a terrible 
clamor, but when they found they were not spilled out, 

14 



they greatly enjoyed the excitement. Their mothers 
were frantic. After running for miles the horses were 
rounded up by the Mexicans who were to accompany us 
part of the way northward. 

"Captain Sutter furnished each family with a fat 
beef animal and he also sent ten Mexicans with us to 
drive our loose stock and to teach our men to pack. The 
Mexicans were supposed to go with us about 250 miles 
to where Col. Freemont was camped. When we reached 
the camp we found Col. Freemont had gone to Southern 
California to join the American forces there. We 
camped at Freemont's camp while the Mexicans killed 
our beeves and dried the meat for us. They told us we 
could follow the old Hudson's Bay trappers' trail north- 
ward to Oregon. 

After traveling a few days northward from Free- 
mont's camp we came to a beautiful lake beside which 
was a clover meadow. We camped there for the night. 
The young man who took the horses out to pasture found 
near the lake an Indian girl about eight years old. The 
little girl was perfectly nude, her long black hair was 
matted and she was covered with sores from head to feet. 
She could only make a pitiful moaning noise. Dr. Tru- 
man Bonney, my uncle, examined her and said she was 
suffering from hunger and that the flies had almost eaten 
her up. Near by we could see where two tribes of In- 
dians had fought. She had apparently crept to one side 
out of danger and had been left. She had been living on 
clover roots and grass. A council among the men was 
held to see what should be done with her. My father 
wanted to take her along; others wanted to kill her and 
put her out of her misery. Father said that would be 
wilful murder. A vote was taken and it was decided to 
do nothing about it, but to leave her where we found 
her. My mother and my aunt were unwilling to leave 
the little girl. They stayed behind to do all they could 
for her. When they finally joined us their eyes were red 

15 



and swollen from crying and their faces were wet with 
tears. Mother said she had knelt down by the little girl 
and had asked God to take care of her. One of the young 
men in charge of the horses felt so badly about leaving 
her, he went back and put a bullet through her head and 
put her out of her misery. 

"A few days later we came to an Indian camp. The 
Indians were subsisting on dried acorns and crickets. 
The crickets were very large. The way they prepared 
them was to catch the crickets, pull off their legs so they 
could not hop away, pile them in the sun and let them 
dry, then mix them with the acorns, put them all together 
in a stone mortar and make a sort of bread out of them. 
The Indians gave us some of this black bread which 
looked like fruit cake but had a different taste. Some 
of we children ate it, while others were rather squeamish 
about it and did not care for it. 

"That evening an Indian came to camp bringing an 
Indian boy about twelve years old. Allan Sanders traded 
a Pinto pony for the boy. He cut the Indian boy's long 
hair, bought him clothing from one of the other members 
of the party, and named the boy Columbus. The first 
night Columbus was very unhappy, but after Sanders 
had given him a sound thrashing he seemed more con- 
tented. He reached Oregon safely but a few years later 
died from the measles. 

"A few days' travel northward from where Sanders 
had bought Columbus, we were attacked by the Indians. 
When night had fallen our party moved back into the 
brush about 50 yards from where we had camped. The 
men put the packs in a circle to protect the women and 
children. The nine men who had guns crept out to the 
bank of the stream where they believed the Indians would 
cross. When everything was still the Indians started 
to cross the stream. Our men gave them a volley and 
the other men, who had cut clubs, with a loud yell splashed 
into the stream after the Indians, and the Indians dis- 

16 



appeared. The next morning the men found plenty of 
blood along the trail where they had gone but did not find 
any bodies of Indians. 

"We reached Rogue River valley, in Southern Oregon, 
early in June. I never saw a more beautiful valley. The 
grass-covered hills were dotted with deer and elk. The 
streams were full of trout, and there was not only plenty 
of wood and water, but there were many little open spots 
and prairies. Several of our party decided to settle 
right there. 

"Captain Levi Scott settled on the Umpqua and 
founded the town of Scottsburg. Eugene Skinner built 
a cabin at the foot of a butte now called Skinner's Butte, 
and by it the town of Eugene now stands. The rest 
of our party continued on down to the Willamette Valley 
and reached Oregon City on June 16, 1846. My father, 
who was a cooper and millwright, got a job coopering 
for Mr. Fellows, while my mother secured work from 
Governor Abernethy. 

"The missionary association in the East had sent a 
large amount of clothing and other goods for the Indian 
students. The dresses were cut out but not made. The 
boys' clothing was also cut out but not sewed, the inten- 
tion being to have the Indians in the manual training 
school do the work. The mission school, however, had 
been abandoned, so Governor Abernethy had the goods. 
He told my mother if she would finish knitting the stock- 
ings, make the dresses and finish the boys' clothing, she 
could have one-half of all she finished. Mother soon had 
all her children outfitted with new clothing and also made 
other dresses and suits, which she sold. Governor Aber- 
nethy of course selling his half. 

"Dr. John McLoughlin of Vancouver employed my 
father to go to Champoeg to repair a grist mill there. He 
furnished father a bateau with eight Indian oarsmen to 
take his family to Champoeg. We landed near the old 
Indian landing near where the monument to the provis- 

17 



ional government now stands. We stayed there that 
winter while father worked on the mill. The winter of 
1846 was one of the coldest that the oldest settlers of 
Oregon could remember. Hundreds of head of wild cat- 
tle and Indian horses died as they couldn't get at the 
dried grass beneath the snow. 

"In the fall of 1847 we moved to our donation land 
claim two miles east of where the town of Hubbard now 
stands. 

"Among my pleasant memories of our stay in Oregon 
City was playing with a playmate, a son of Col. W. G. 
T'Vault, the first editor of the Oregon Spectator- at Ore- 
gon City, the first paper to be published west of the 
Rocky Mountains. One day young T'Vault and I were 
walking along the streets of Oregon City when we met 
Dr. McLoughlin and Mr. Barlow. Barlow had a plane 
bit in his hands. Dr. McLoughlin put his hand on my 
head and said: 'Don't you boys want to earn some 
candy? If you will go with Mr. Barlow and turn the 
grind stone while he sharpens that plane bit, I will give 
you each a handful of candy.' As soon as Mr. Barlow 
had pronounced the bit sharp enough we hurried back to 
Dr. McLoughlin and he gave us each a handful of plain 
candy hearts with mottoes on them. That was the first 
store candy we had ever eaten, or for that matter had 
ever had in our hands. 

"Another recollection of Oregon City is going with 
my cousin, Wisewell Bonney, and young T'Vault to the 
building which was used as a mint. The men there would 
melt the gold dust on a blacksmith's forge, pour it into 
molds, roll it through a roller and keep rolling it till the 
bars were thin, when they would stamp $5 and $10 gold 
pieces out of the gold bars. They had a beaver on one 
side and were called Beaver money. They manufactured 
about $30,000 worth of $10 coins and $25,000 worth of 
$5 coins. By accident they made them too heavy, so 
they were worth more than five or ten dollars, so when 

18 



the people got them they would melt them up or send 
them to the mint. That is why they are so scarce now. 

"My uncle, Truman Bonney, settled at Hubbard. He 
was what was known in those days as a calomel and 
quinine doctor, as that is what he prescribed for every- 
thing that ailed people. 

"My father died in 1854. Shortly thereafter my 
mother married Orlando Bidwell. Our claim joined A. 
R. Dimmick's claim. John Dimmick, father of Grant 
Dimmick, and I went to school together. The first time 
I ever saw the inside of a school house was when I was 
14 years old. 

"In those days they used to have big times at the 
barn raisings. When Dimmick's barn was built it was 
christened the Queen of the French Prairie because it 
was the biggest barn on the prairie. Neighbors, with 
their ox teams, came for twenty miles around to help at 
the barn raising. One incident of that b^rn raising I 
remember very distinctly. There was a man there 
named Zack Fields who offered to bet a $5 Beaver coin 
that no one could raise his head from the ground by his 
ears. It looked as if it would be easy, but when a man 
put up a five-dollar gold piece Zack greased his ears so 
the man's fingers would slip off, and Zack won the bet. 

"Father paid $12 each and sent five of us children to 
school there. The teachers didn't have to know much 
about books, but had to be able to whip the big boys. I 
saw a teacher tackle George Dimmick, who was 18 years 
old. It was a battle royal, for George put up a big scrap. 
The teacher wore out a six-foot hazel rod on him. 

"I put in most of my time making cedar shingles. 
My father's donation land claim on the Pudding river 
bottom had forty acres of fine timber on it. We split our 
cedar timbers for both Ford's and Riser's houses. We 
got $10 per thousand for the cedar shingles. People 
came from all over Mission Bottom and French Prairie 
to buy shingles of us. 

19 



"The first time I was married I was married to Cath* 
erine M. Rhoades, who was fifteen years old. We were 
married on February 11, 1864, at Champoeg, by Rev. T. 
B. Litchenthaer of the United Brethren church. We had 
nine children, seven of whom are still living. You will 
know we shifted around a good bit when I tell you that 
these nine children were born in seven different houses. 

"My second wife was Louise Coats. We were married 
at Tygh Valley in Eastern Oregon by Rev. Roland Brown. 
My third wife was a widow with five children. Her name 
was Mrs. Emma J. Lamb, We were married at Oregon 
City by County Judge Grant Dimmick, the son of my 
former schoolmate. 

"When I was a young man I worked as a carpenter 
and bricklayer. Then I got into a sort of peculiar busi- 
ness. I would take up a squatter's right on a piece of 
land, build a good house on it, and sell it to someone who 
wanted to homestead on the land. 

"In 1861 I went to the Orofino mines in Idaho and 
had fair success. Some little time after the Civil war 
I decided to be a preacher. For eleven years I preached 
on the circuit from Dufur in Eastern Oregon to Golden- 
dale, Washington. Later I preached in British Columbia, 
and still later I had a circuit in the Puget Sound country. 

"When I tell my grandchildren about the old days, 
about the plains being dark with vast herds of buffalo, 
about the Indians and the mining camps, they look at me 
as if they thought I could not be telling the truth. Those 
old days are gone forever and the present generation can 
never know the charm and romance of the old West." 



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